


archipelago

by oh_la_fraise



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Five Stages of Grief, Hurt Magnus Bane, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 06:52:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14910470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_la_fraise/pseuds/oh_la_fraise
Summary: Magnus Bane deals with the loss of his magic like any rational adult in a tragedy: he gets plastered with his boyfriend's mom and then gets in a bar fight.





	archipelago

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this isn't perfect, but I've been in a major writing slump lately and am trying to get back in the swing of the things. Comments are appreciated.

**Denial.**

_“Don’t be ashamed,” the witch said, reaching a hand out towards him so slowly she might as well have been standing still.  She was wizined and knowledgeable and older than the trees themselves. She’d been the one to show the boy later known as Magnus the spell to banish his father; she’d been less forthcoming, though, to show Magnus a spell to bind his own magic._

_After all the death he’d caused—his mother and his stepfather and at the behest of his father—he was eager to have this curse taken away from him, to live the rest of his hopefully mortal life in penance for what he had done._

_“These powers—they can’t do anything but hurt.”_

_Her fingers finally reached his cheek.  They left a chill as they make contact. “Let me show you otherwise, dear boy.”_

~

Magnus had intended for his hair to have a single blue streak.

He had the entire day with nothing to do, and, attempting to get a bit of his usual panache back, he’d decided to engage in his typical beauty routines.  But, lacking the ability to create a full makeover with the snap of his fingers and instead being forced to dye his hair by hand, he had created a less. . .glamorous look than his normal appearance.  The blue streak was more of a sickly yellow, and instead of being a streak, it was more of an amorphous blob that made him look like he had the beginnings of a bald patch. He sighed, looking away from the mirror and focusing on finding an ascot cap he’d stolen from Fitzgerald sometime in the early 1900’s.  Dick Diver hadn’t come by his sense of style honestly, after all.

Hat in place, he wondered about the loft somewhat aimlessly.  This was the first time in centuries Magnus had so much free time, and it was surely going to drive him insane long before the loss of his magic would.  In the rare times he wasn’t helping fellow warlocks or experimenting with new potions for particularly challenging clients (or, as of late, healing whatever Shadowhunter was drug half-dead through his door), he was portalling himself around the world, determined to find the best fried green tomatoes in Savannah or the best bulgogi in Daegu.  Now, he was stuck at the humiliating mercies of hoping his phone had enough battery to call a Lyft to ferry him across Manhattan.

And it wasn’t as if he had an abundance of company to keep him entertained, either.  Catarina was the only warlock in the tri-state area who would have anything to do with him after the fiasco with Lorenzo, and they’d both agreed it was best if she kept her distance until things calmed down a bit, lest Lorenzo try to disturb Cat’s custody of Madzie.  The Shadowhunters had also made themselves scarce. Jace was too traumatized to leave the Institute, and Izzy was busy being the only person with her shit together enough to keep everyone else halfway sane. And Clary was. . .well. Magnus was barely holding it together himself; if he thought about Clary’s death he would probably collapse into a destitute puddle on the floor.

Alexander, after he’d recovered from being mildly impaled, had at first stuck to Magnus like a gloomy shadow. Magnus had eventually forced Alexander to deal with the chaos reigning at the Institute—it seemed only prudent that at least one of them keep their leadership position, and, Magnus was sympathetic enough to understand that Alec was probably the only thing standing between Jace and a terribly bad decision that ended either in a psych ward or the bottom of the East River.  

Besides, even though he knew it wasn’t Alexander’s intention, Magnus could feel the guilt radiating off of his boyfriend like a particularly odious cloud.  He knew that sooner or later they were going to have A Talk, but until then, Magnus was selfish enough to want to keep the puppy dog stares and tragic cheek stroking to a bare minimum.  He was also ridiculously thankful that Alec hadn’t been there for the multiple bouts of anger that resulted in several smashed plates, followed by Magnus hysterically crying on his way to the corner store to buy a broom and dust pan.

But, as much as he was glad he wasn’t having to assuage Alec’s guilt at the same time he was dealing with his entire life being turned upside down by his own volition, Magnus had to admit he desperately missed the calm steadiness Alec provided.  He felt like he was going to vibrate out of his skin, feeling utterly useless and adrift as the battle for the Shadowworld raged around him. For the first time in his life, he understood the phrase _climbing the walls,_ and if Magnus didn’t find something to take his mind off the enormity of everything that had happened, he was either to going to end up with Jace in the psych ward or with hair a la Gaga in the oughts.  

He sighed again, and pulled his laptop close enough to google _hobbies to do in your free time._

_~_

When Alexander walked in that night, several hours had passed, and Magnus was surrounded by three half finished puzzles of baby animals, a stick that had been whittled into a much smaller stick, and what he had decided would be a perfect scarf for one of Madzie’s dolls.  He was currently focused on learning the guitar, practicing on one that Simon had left at one point or another; Magnus hoped that if he mistreated it badly enough, Simon would return out of sheer rage. His fingers were sore and bleeding from plucking the strings, almost like the fizzing of magic, and it was the best he’d felt in days.

“What. . .what is happening?” Alexander asked, sounding too confused to be genuinely snarky.  

“I’m taking up a hobby,” Magnus replied.  Alec had the slightly constipated look on his face that meant he was about to try to apologize, and Magnus strummed louder and more out of key to cut him off.  It wasn’t fair to expect Alec to apologize, Magnus reminded himself; Alec hadn’t asked that he give up his magic to save Jace (Of course, Magnus deliberately hadn’t asked him to choose, because Magnus wasn’t entirely sure he would have liked the answer).

Alec bit his lip, wincing as Magnus hit a particularly out of tune string.  “Guitar, though?”

“You’re lucky I didn’t take up raising chickens on the balcony,” he replied.  “That was one of the suggestions on the website I looked up.”

Alec wisely didn’t reply, instead dumping the plastic bags he was holding onto the counter and mechanically lifting out cardboard boxes.  “I brought dinner,” he said. “Flavios. I got the chicken parm for you since you ate most of mine last time.”

“Wonderful,” Magnus said, abandoning his musical pursuits for the time being.  He slung the guitar carelessly on the couch, hopped over what promised to be a very eccentric scrapbook, and walked to the kitchen.  He inhaled the smell of garlic and tomatoes, and, suddenly starving, leaned over to give Alexander a quick hello kiss on the cheek. Alec leaned into the heat of Magnus’s body, and Magnus felt something tight uncurl in his spine.  “They have the best tiramisu I’ve ever had outside of Italy.”

Alec’s face fell, and Magnus could read the thoughts that passed through his mind like a map: _Magnus won’t get to portal to Italy any more, because Magnus doesn’t have magic any more, because of me._ Magnus, having no interest in going down that route and spoiling what promised to be a pleasant dinner, hip checked him.  “Out of my way,” he said. “I’m not above killing a man between me and my breadsticks.”

Conversation at dinner was somewhat stilted; it was hard to talk about the weather when Magnus had his raison d’etre ripped away by his own father and the other half of Alec’s soul had nearly killed him.  Still, it was nice having Alec squeezing his hand over the table, reminding Magnus that he hadn’t lost _everything._ They cuddled on the couch after; rather than anything sexual, it was more about reassuring each other they were alive.  Alec even had the sense not to ask about Magnus’s bleached hair when he removed the ascot; instead, he just ran his fingers through Magnus’s hair until Magnus was practically purring like a cat.  

They fell asleep together on the couch, and although there was a kink in Magnus’s back when he woke up, it was still the best sleep he’d had in awhile.  Alec, never a morning person, shuffled around sleepily, nearly brushing his teeth with shaving cream before Magnus managed to right him. It made Magnus feel a little better, that he could still take care of someone he loved in this small way.  Alec left clutching a mug of coffee, and Magnus resigned himself to another day of silence.

That plan was derailed an hour or so later.  There was a knock at his door, firm and demanding, and Magnus took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself to deal with Lorenzo or some other power-hungry tyrant.  He neatened his ascot and blotted a bit of oil off his forehead before opening the door, the feel of the knob in his hand foreign.

To his surprise, instead of the High Warlock of Brooklyn or an angry client, Maryse Lightwood stood at the door.

“Alec isn’t here,” he said, wondering why she had thought he would be in the middle of a Wednesday afternoon.

She shoved her way inside, muscling past Magnus’s outstretched arm.  “I know. I came to see you.”

“. . .Why?” he said slowly, looking for the shape of a dagger in her oversized purse.  She plunged her hand in, and Magnus resigned himself to dying the way he always knew he would: murdered by a parent of someone he was fucking.

Instead, she emerged with a crystal cut glass bottle full of shining amber liquid.  He whistled. “That’s an expensive bottle of whiskey.”

“My father wasn’t good for much, but he certainly taught me how to drink properly.”

Magnus wrinkled his nose.  “And you couldn’t have passed that on to Alexander?”  

Maryse rolled her eyes.  “My children have no culinary taste.  I don’t understand it. Even Jace doesn’t, so it’s clearly not genetic.  I blame Robert.”  


“That’s fair,” he nodded.  “Well, thank you so much, Maryse.  It’s greatly appreciated,” he said, holding his hand out to take the bottle.

“Oh no,” she said, pulling it back to her chest.  “This isn’t a gift. It’s on loan, and it’s not to leave my custody.”

  
  
“I’m sorry?”

She gave him a wicked smile, looking disconcertingly like Izzy.  “Pour me a drink, warlock.” At his blank stare, her face softened.  Somehow, seeing Maryse Lightwood looking concerned about a warlock was more terrifying than going to Edom had been.  “I heard what happened. With your magic.”

“Look. . . just because I’m dating Alexander doesn’t mean you have to be nice to me.”

She shook her head.  “That’s not it. And it’s not because you saved Jace, or helped Izzy with her Yin Fen addiction.  I mean, I’m eternally grateful for all of it; and it makes me ashamed of how I treated you in the past.  But.”

“But—?” Magnus asked when Maryse paused.

“I know what’s it like to lose such a key part of yourself.  And I know it must be harder now when you don’t want to worry the people you love.”

There was only one _people_ they both cared about. “Alec has so much on his shoulders right now.”

Maryse smirked, taking a pull straight from the bottle.  “You know who doesn’t at the moment?”

~

“Mundane tolerance is _weak,_ ” Maryse declared sometime later, when they were well into the bottle.

“Everything about the mundanes is weak,” Magnus replied.  “Did you know my hair frizzes when I go outside now? It’s disgusting, Maryse.”

“ _It’s disgusting, Maryse,”_ she mocked in a sing-song voice.  Magnus had never liked her more.

They sat in silence for a moment, before Maryse gestured to the abandoned chess set on the coffee table.  “What is that?”

“An attempt to pick up a hobby.”

“Wow, you are old.” Maryse hiccupped and looked at him with big brown eyes, switching to complete seriousness in the blink of an eye the way the only truly drunk could.  “You know what I keep thinking? If you two have kids, when they’re angsty teenagers they’ll say, ‘ugh, grandma is a _mundane._ She doesn’t get it.”

Magnus laughed a little too loudly.  “And now they’ll say the same about dear old dad.”  Maryse cackled in response, sloshing her drink.

“It feels like I’m suffocating,” he said, laughter turning a little hysterical.  He could never say this to Alec. “Like—like someone has their hands around my throat, all the time.”

Maryse was quiet for a second.  “For me, it’s a phantom pain. Like a lost limb, I guess.”  She closed her eyes. “I can still feel them on my skin. Like lightning.”

He took a sip of his drink.  “Well, at least there’s a silver lining.”

“Oh?”

“We’re spending time together voluntarily.  If Alexander were a lesser man, he might say this has all been worth it.”

**Anger.**

_It was sometime in the 1700’s, and there was a girl named Amelia, and Magnus didn’t think it was possible to love someone so much._

_He hadn’t been able to lie anymore, so he’d—haltingly, frightened like a wounded deer—shown her his magic.  She’s laughed, and made some cheesy joke about him being magical, and said that explained his incongruous talent with baking.  His heart broke a little with how much he cared for her._

_She lay back onto his chest, golden curls tickling his chin, and said, “I see a horse in that cloud.”_

_He frowned, but it wouldn’t stick on his face at the feel of the grass underneath his back and the sun on his skin.  “It’s clearly a dog.”_

_“Horse.”_

_He reached up, swirling his hands around, and the cloud shifted shape until it was clearly canine in nature.  “Dog.”_

_She laughed so hard she snorted.  “I love you, you rotten cheater.”_

~

Eventually, Maryse left, clutching her bottle of whiskey with a promise to return.  Magnus lay around in a drunken stupor for a while, flicking lazily through the tv until he sobered up.  Once he didn’t feel like the room was spinning every time he stood up, he decided to cleanse his palette by going for a run.  Even though it was dark out, Alec wasn’t back yet, obviously working late; Magnus hoped he’d be back in time for sweaty, adrenaline-fueled shower sex.

He laced up his sneakers and lost himself in the beat of the music; running, like showering or the occasional dusting, was something he had always enjoyed doing himself.  The blocks flew by in a blur as he ran faster, taking what was something dangerously close to fury out on the pavement. He couldn’t be mad, he reminded himself. It wasn’t Alec’s fault, and it wasn’t Jace’s fault, and being angry at his father would be pointless.  He couldn’t be mad.

Magnus ran on, trying not to notice the grinding of his teeth over the pounding of his music.

Eventually, completely exhausted, he slowed to a stop.  He had no idea where he was, and without the ability to portal home, he was forced to pull out his phone and open maps like a wide-eyed tourist.  By the time he had himself righted, it was later than he cared to admit; Alec was probably blinking sleepily at the kitchen table, pinching himself to stay awake long enough to make sure Magnus hadn’t killed himself.

His attention was caught by a low murmuring and a short, cut-off scream; Magnus looked around and quickly figured out it had come from the direction of a dark alley.  He sighed. Nothing foreboding about that. He pulled his headphones out and jammed his phone in his pocket, heading down the alley.

Sure enough, there was a girl backed into a dingy wall, complete with broken heel and mascara streaked cheeks.  Clearly no one had taught her the value of a good setting spray. Several goons loomed around her, laughing—it was like something out of a bad movie, really.  Magnus felt himself cringe a little bit as he walked closer and barked “hey! Leave her alone!”

The lead goon sneered.  “Yeah? What are you gonna do about it, fuckface?”

Magnus grinned.  Even if he wasn’t mad, it would still feel good to punch something.

~

True to his prediction, Alexander was practically slumped over his kitchen table when Magnus finally returned home.  He stalked forward, pressing Alec against the table and practically shoving his tongue down Alec’s mouth. Alec groaned, shifting against Magnus, and _oh,_ now he was awake.

“What’s gotten into you?” Alec said, pulling back slightly.  Magnus dove in after him.

“Just amped up, is all. I think I found a new hobby.”

“Do you have a black eye?”

Magnus hummed, sucking a hickey onto Alec’s neck. “Maybe.”

Alec pulled back completely this time.  “Magnus, what happened?”

“I kicked the asses of three, well, assholes.  I was a regular knight in shining armor.”

“You got in a fight?” Alec asked.  He put his hands on Magnus’s shoulders, and he was wearing the frown that Magnus hated.  

“A small one.  But I won, _handedly.”_

“You have a black eye.  Do you even know how to fight without magic?”

“Again, three to one, and I won.”  

Alec frowned harder.  “Magnus, are you okay?”

“Yes, the eye is the worst of it, really—”

“No, I meant,” Alec dropped his hands away from Magnus’s shoulders, and he yearned for that small bit of contact.   “Are you _okay?_ You got in a fight with mundanes, and everytime I try to talk to you about—”

_I am a mundane,_ he wanted to say, suddenly feeling cruel and petty.  Instead, he said, “I’m fine, darling. Well, I’m processing, but I promise you I’m not about to go to the loco bin.  It was just nice to serve a little justice, is all.”

Alec stared at him for a long time.  “If you say so.”

“I say so.  Now can we _please_ have shower sex?”

~  


Alec didn’t ask him if he was okay again, but Magnus could feel Alec watching him the next few days.  It was driving Magnus crazy being surveilled, and he found himself running outside more and more. It was mostly to burn off the energy he no longer had many alternative ways to expend, but he found himself going down dodgy alleys more and more, looking for opportunities to right hook his antsiness out.  If he stopped a few muggings in the process, that was even better.

A week later, with Alec staring him down over eggs, Magnus finally snapped.  “ _What?”_ he asked, toast turning sour in his mouth.  He loved Alexander more than he’d loved anyone in his very long life, but goddamn if the infuriating bastard didn’t seem determined to ruin breakfast for Magnus.

In response, Alec produced a newspaper out of nowhere, shoving a circled story in front of Magnus’s face.

“You read the Times?” Magnus asked, feeling a little turned on despite how angry he was.

“The crime section,” Alec responded.  “We can’t always depend on Luke to spot supernatural happenings.  Which is why it caught my eye when there was a story about a sudden recurring trend of a vigilante stopping petty crime in Brooklyn.”

He sighed.  “I told you—I just need to burn off some energy.”

Alec raised his hands in defense.  “Look, I’m not arguing. I just want to make sure you’re being careful.”

“I am, dear.”

“Can you just humor me and come to the Institute later today?  I’ll put you through your paces; you’ll kick my ass, and then I can relax that you’re not going to get shanked by a meth head.”

Magnus sighed.  “Fine. I guess I’ll have to cancel my boozy brunch plans with your mother, though,” he said, pushing back from the table to look for his phone.

“Wait, what?—”

~

When he showed up to the Institute later, the feeling of being watched magnified tenfold.  Shadowhunters were hardly discrete creatures in the best of times, and while he always made a splash when visiting the Institute, he suspected that rumors of his recent . . . _transformation_ was drawing more attention than usual.  He sped towards the training ground, desperate to get away from the stares.

When he finally made it to the boxing ring, to his surprise, it wasn’t Alec waiting for him, but Jace instead.  Magnus hadn’t seen him since the night he’d almost killed Alec, and in the span of two weeks, he looked almost like a different person.  He had lost weight, his collar bones poking out of the ragged tank top he was wearing, and his hair looked lank and unwashed. There were deep blue rings under his eyes, and his eyes themselves were haunted, a look with which Magnus was all too familiar.  

“I was looking for Alec,” he said, looking away from Jace’s eyes, uncomfortable.

“He got pulled into a meeting,” Jace said.  His voice was hoarse. “He asked me to work with you.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I don’t want to put you out.  I’ll wait for Alec.”

“You afraid I’ll kick your ass?” Jace said, sounding a little bit like himself.

Magnus sighed, and ducked under the ropes.

“Alec is trying to fix us both,” Jace said, after their hands were taped and they were going through a few light swings.  “That’s what he does. He thinks if he gets us in the ring we’ll punch out our sadness.”

“He might not be wrong,” Magnus said, sending a quick uppercut towards Jace.Magnus felt sorry for all that he had endured from Lilith and Magnus’s love potion, but no matter how much Magnus tried to ignore it, a small voice kept whispering in the back of his mind: _Jace is the reason your magic is gone._

Jace dodged easily.  “You project your punches too much.  When you’re charging up your magic it’s fine, because everyone’s scared shitless they’re about to be blasted off the face of the Earth, but without it you’re just telegraphing.”

In response, Magnus threw a quick punch, hitting Jace square in the jaw.  “Like that?”

“Jesus Christ,” Jace said, spitting blood. “It figures Alec would be attracted to you.”

~

The next few days passed roughly the same: fighting with Jace, drinking with Maryse, beating up miscreants, and making out with Alec anytime he tried to talk about Magnus’s feelings.  Magnus felt like he was in stasis; even though he wasn’t in a straight jacket, he felt no better about the loss of his magic than he had a month ago. He still kept trying to open the door with a wave of his hand; kept wondering why the take out from Harold’s wasn’t appearing the second he thought of it. It was like waiting for a volcano to erupt.

Maia had apparently seen him trying to summon his wallet at Hunter’s Moon enough that she had picked up on this as well.  She’d returned a few days prior, looking shaken and wan; Magnus had only heard a little bit about what had happened with her and the Praetor member, but he knew enough to give her a big hug when she’d returned.  She’d rolled her eyes and shoved him off, and he’d gone back to treating her exactly as he always had. She’d paid him back in kind, not asking about why his magic was so obviously gone.

About a week after she’d returned, long enough for the dust to settle a bit, he woke up to a loud thump from his kitchen. At first, he assumed it was Alec making breakfast, but then he remembered Alec had slept at the Institute last night.  A low murmuring voice set the hair on his arms rising. He creeped towards the door, automatically drawing magic towards his palms—he stopped, swallowed, and kept going, grabbing an umbrella out of a nearby stand and holding it in front of him like a seraph blade.  

He emerged to find his living room in _ruins._ There was a hole in the wall that _was sparking_ , and a disturbing clunk coming from his kitchen sink.  A pair of heeled boots were sticking out from a cabinet, and until he heard a very creative swear, he wasn’t entirely unconvinced a dead body hadn’t appeared in his kitchen.

“What is happening?” he asked towards the direction of the _fuckety fuck its._

Maia emerged, covered in dust.  He winced, realizing it had been a long time since he’d cleaned those cabinets out, even with magic.  “I’m teaching you the value of Amazon, old man.”

“Come again?”

“Just eat your wheaties and give me an hour.”

Exactly three and a half hours later, Maia stood triumphantly in the center of his living room, pointing to her various installations.  He wasn’t exactly sure what she’d done, but the holes were gone at least. Magnus wasn’t too stuck in his ways like some Warlocks that he eschewed computers and phones in favor of ancient communication spells and combing through tombs for answers that he could find on Google, but he wasn’t as up to date as he would like.  He tried not to gawk like an old man too much at Alexa being able to play songs at his command, or his new security camera that would automatically open doors for people it recognized.

“Thank you, Maia,” he said, sliding a martini to her.

She sighed, taking a huge swig.  “What the actual fuck happened, Magnus?”

He knew it was a rhetorical question, and despite his fascination with Maia’s installations, he was still quite melancholy.  “Life, I suppose.”

She hummed.  “This blows.”

“At least we have alcohol,” he said, taking a too big swing of his martini.

**Bargaining.**

_“You can’t do it with magic,” Ragnor hissed.  People bustled by in the busy street corner, temporarily oblivious to the three figures huddled around the decidedly-locked church door.  “You’ll get us busted.”_

_“Trust me, I’m more likely to get us caught if I don’t.”_

_“You’re too confident for your own good,” Cat whispered, looking around to make sure their invisibility spell was holding.  “If we get caught, I’m telling them you’re a witch and you possessed Ragnor and I. You’re on your own, old man.”_

_Magnus smirked as his magic sunk farther into the lock, breaking apart the wards and physical barriers like taffy.  It gave a faint click and the door swung open. “It’s only too confident if you can’t back it up.”_

~

He kept trying to find a hobby, even though a large amount of his time was now going to asking Alexa to tell him jokes.  He went through a pottery period; jewelry making; molding his own soap. He took up cooking, and promptly gave himself and Alec food poisoning.  He did rediscover his love of fencing; he’d originally learned sometime in the 1600’s to impress a girl, but it was its own reward to have Jace heaving on the ground with Magnus’s sword at his throat.  

He had been mostly removed from other warlocks during this time; he’d had a few calls with Cat, but Lorenzo was still on the warpath, so they’d been keeping their distance.  He missed having other warlocks around him. Not just for the companionship—no one was better equipped to understand the struggles of immorality than another immortal being—but the thrill that came with being with other magical creatures.  The way his magic would brush and intertwine with others. Even if he didn’t have his magic anymore, he could still feel the electricity hum in the air, and he missed it like a drug addict in withdrawal.

So when Iva Kuznetsov asked for a meeting, he happily accepted.  After all, it wasn’t his responsibility to babysit every New York warlock from incurring Lorenzo’s wrath.   It had been a few decades since he’d seen her last; she usually was in deep upstate New York, away from any presiding High Warlock and civilization in general. She was incredibly serious; while she wasn’t particularly powerful, her wards were legendary, which Magnus had always attributed to her sheer _steel_ personality. Still, Magnus enjoyed her company; she had a dry wit, and a bit of levity around her protege Fatima, a tiny, precocious fifty year old warlock with a penchant for potions.

When she appeared at his door, her shiny brown hair was slipping out of her usually immaculate bun, and there were hints of silver shimmering under her skin.  The fact that she was disheveled enough for her warlock mark to be showing sent a shiver of unease down Magnus’s spine. This apparently wasn’t a social call.

“Iva,” he said, welcoming her in.

“Magnus, thank you for meeting me.”

“Of course.  What’s on your mind?”

She took a deep breath.  “I’ll get right to the point.  The Faceless have returned, and they’ve taken Fatima.  They haven’t hurt her, but they want me to set up a Rhea ward in her exchange for her return.”

He whistled, long and low.  “The Faceless? I’m sorry, Iva.  They haven’t been active in decades—why now?”

She paused, clearly choosing her words carefully. “There’s speculation that they’re testing the new leadership.”

“Lorenzo.”

“Yes.  To be frank, they’re not as scared of him as they were you, and they think they can make a push right now with the leadership chaos in the werewolves and the vampires.”

“I’m sorry, Iva.”  He held his hands toward her, knowing she would feel the sheer lack of anything powerful. “I wish there was something I could do, but I’m sure you’ve heard I lost my magic.”

She shook her head.  “I don’t need a fight with the Faceless; I need you to talk some sense into  Lorenzo. He’s taking a hard stance and refusing to even talk to them. He said it’s negotiating with terrorists.”

“I don’t know why you think he would listen to me.  He’s made _that_ perfectly clear.  Besides, I’m learning how to garden, and I have to plant my flowers by today.”

“He’s not listening to anyone.  He won’t let me do the ward, even though I can build a fail safe in it to kill it the second we have Fatima back.  They’re _weak_ right now—a few warlocks and a handful of shadowhunters could destroy them entirely.  If you talk to him, tell him they can be beaten, maybe—”

“I’m sorry, Iva,” he repeated.

“Please.  I just want Fatima back.  What would you do if it were Madzie?”  Her face shuddered for a minute, showing every one of her four hundred years.  

He sighed, already regretting his decision.  “I’ll see what I can do.”

~

Going to Lorenzo’s house and knocking on the door wasn’t the most humiliating moment in Magnus Bane’s life—that honor belonged to a particularly alcoholic night in Utrecht—but it was close to it.

He was forced to wait outside an uncomfortably long time, and when Lorenzo finally opened, he didn’t even pretend to be enjoying the schadenfreude of seeing Magnus Bane, hat in hand, at his door.  Instead he just sighed, sounding exhausted already. “Will I ever cease to be rid of the wonder that is Magnus Bane?”

“Let me in Lorenzo.  I’m not any more eager to be here than you are to have me, but we need to talk.”

Lorenzo sighed again, standing just far back enough for Magnus to push his way inside.  The decor seemed even haughtier than last time he’d been here, and Magnus stood carefully still, desperate not to have anything rub off on him.  “I’ve heard the Faceless are acting up again. You can’t let them terrorize the New York warlocks.”

“It’s three anti-government warlocks and a half dozen werewolves.  I think I can manage that.”

“They’ve already kidnapped a child!”  Magnus snapped. “They’ll just keep gaining momentum if you don’t stop them.”

“The best way to stop them is by refusing to deal with them,” Lorenzo said slowly, as if he were speaking to a child.  “Acknowledging their petty antics will only encourage them.”

“They’ll _kill_ Fatima.”

Lorenzo turned around, not looking at Magnus.  HIs shoulders dropped, taking away some of his arrogance.  “Sometimes, there is a price to pay.”

“She’s a _child.”_ Magnus stuttered.

Lorenzo wheeled around, fury in every line of his body.  “And you are a _mundane._ You are not the high warlock; you are a _relic_ .  You have no power in this situation.  Why are you even at my _door?”_

Magnus bit his lip.  “I’ll do you a favor, if you rescue Fatima.”

“And what could you _possibly_ do for me?”

“If you do this, I promise I will stay out of your way.”

Lorenzo looked down at his table, tapping his foot.  “Not just my way,” he said slowly. “I can’t ban you outright since you’re a feeble mundane now, but I still can do this: if I take on the Faceless, in return, you are forbidden from any contact with any New York warlock again.”

Magnus stared, thinking about  the pain of losing Ragnor, about how Catarina and Madzie were one of the few things left tethering him to sanity.

But then again, Lorenzo could part Madzie and Cat with a snap of his fingers.   

He swallowed once, twice, and nodded.

“This is the last time you ever come to me for a favor.”  Lorenzo spit. “Get out of my sight.”

Magnus let the door slam behind him.

**Depression.**

_Henry swore, jumping back at the shower of sparks.  “Damnit, I thought that would—”_

_“Me too,” Magnus said, absentmindedly healing the new burns on his arms.  “Surely with the added warping on the Z axis—” He paused, staring at Henry._

_Henry stared back.  “We didn’t compensate for the Y axis.  If we do that—”_

_“—and add a little torq to the opening—”  Magnus continued, already making the calculations in his head and drawing the energy to try again.  He held out his hands in front of him, drawing strength from Henry’s boundless shadowhunter energy. The space in front of them shimmered, and then a picture of Dubai, hazy but still able to be viewed, appeared in front of them.  Henry took a deep breath._

_Magnus stared at the portal in front of him, the slow realization of the magnitude of what they’d just accomplished sinking in.  “I feel like I’m the master of the universe.”_

~

He had fight training with Jace later that afternoon.  Magnus’s first inclination was to blow it off, but he knew if he did, Alec’s _I am the protector of all, including my vastly more powerful and experienced boyfriend_ alarms would be sounding full alert, and it would be easier keeping himself in check with a despondent, nearly-catatonic Jace than an Alec who was on the lookout for any sort of bullshit.

But when Magnus arrived at the Institute, he found Jace in rare form—namely, that his hair was brushed and it looked (and smelled) like he’d put on a clean shirt.

“You’re in a rare mood,” Magnus said, circling cautiously.  

“Inquisitor Herondale’s funeral was this morning,” Jace spat, throwing a punch with less than his usual control.  “I figured I should I clean up to show my respects.”

“I’m sorry,” Magnus said.  

“For what?” Jace muttered.  “My loss or the fact that they wouldn’t let me into the funeral because Lilith's taint on me is still too strong for Alicante?”

“I’m sorry,” Magnus repeated.  This time, he wasn’t fast enough, and Jace hit him square in the jaw.

“Suppose I had that coming to me,” he said, feeling frustrated despite himself.  As badly as he felt for Jace, he wasn’t in the mood to be comforting at the moment.  

“I’m sorry, are you annoyed?” Jace spit.  

“ _No,_ ” Magnus said, but he swung a little harder, clipping Jace in the temple.

Jace’s eyes narrowed.  “Is my sorrow inconvenient for you?”

“No. Because I _can’t_ be mad at you,” Magnus practically shouted.  The tight control he’d been keeping unravelled, sudden and sharp.  The volcano erupted, and he took it out on Jace, throwing one wild punch and then another.  “I can’t be mad at you, because it’s not your fault, and there’s no one else to be mad at. But I’m mad anyway.”

“Well I _am_ mad at you,” Jace said, throwing a punch as misguided as Magnus’s.  “I lost the love of my life and was possessed by the literal _queen of hell_ due in part to your love spell.  But I can’t be, because you’re a _martyr_ who gave up your fucking magic for me.”  

Jace’s shouting turned into full on _wailing,_ and soon he was clinging to Magnus more than throwing punches.  They collapsed in a heap, lying there, hanging on to each other as the world fell apart.  To his embarrassment, Magnus realized his face was covered in snot. What a time to be without magic indeed.

“Come on,” said Magnus, sniffling and pulling Jace to his feet.

“Where are we going?” His voice cracked.

“To go get wasted with your mother.”

~

Jace winced as he took his sip of whiskey, and Maryse and Magnus burst out in tandem laughter.

“What?” he asked.  He’d spent a good twenty minutes in Magnus’s bathroom cleaning himself up while they’d waited for Maryse and her vintage booze to arrive, but his eyes were still rimmed in red.  

“Just,” Magnus said, “you have no taste, s’all.”

They laughed, and Magnus felt something icy crack in his chest as the bottle grew emptier.  Never in a million years would Magnus have thought he would be voluntarily spending time with Maryse Lightwood _and_ Jace Herondale without Alexander present, but Magnus felt at ease in a  way he didn’t with Alec. As much as he loved Alec, Alec didn’t _understand_ in the way that Maryse and Jace did.  Like Magnus, they were struggling to take life day by day after losing everything.

“What the fuck—?”

Magnus looked up to see Alec, obviously torn between bewilderment and anger.  He hadn’t even heard the door open, and as he looked outside to the pitch black sky, he realized just how late it had gotten.

“Mom, Jace, I think it’s time for you to go.” Alec said.  They stared at Alec and then swivelled to stare at Magnus in tandem.  Magnus waved them to go; the mood was ruined, and he wasn’t keen to have witnesses for the fight he and Alec were surely about to have.  Jace and Maryse slid out the door like chastised children, but not before Maryse grabbed the bottle of the remaining whiskey.

Alec rounded on Magnus, pinching his nose.  “Okay, let’s get you into bed, and then I’ll make sure Mom and Jace got home okay—”

Magnus had spent all his anger on Jace; he didn’t have anything left in him to be angry at Alec, too. He was too exhausted for that.  Instead, he collapsed onto his favorite chair, staring at the floor. “I need you to leave.”

“I—Magnus.  Why?”

_Because I’ve had a terrible day and I’m about to start hysterically crying and I don’t want to deal with your guilt too._ “I just need to be alone right now.”

“Magnus, you’re clearly not in a good place,” Alec said.  His voice was frustratingly gentle. “I’m not going to leave you alone right now.”

“Fine,” he said, brushing past.  Alec tried to grab him but Magnus yanked away his arm away.  “But I need some time to myself.”

The fresh air did him good, and Magnus began to sober up, anger and despair receding a little.  He’d always been a histrionic drunk, and he felt a little embarrassed at his outburst. His phone buzzed, and he silenced it, not ready to have to justify his craziness quite yet.  

He walked down an alley, feeling deja vu as he passed the alley where he’d gotten into a few fights over the past weeks.  Sure enough, there was a group there, and a dog, whimpering in pain.

Well, that was one way to get his remaining emotions out.  

Unfortunately, Magnus realized quickly he was a little drunker than he had thought, and his mundane reflexes, though he would never admit it, were slower than he would like.  One of the vandals got a punch in, and he went down on his knees. There was a kick, and then another; he was flat on his back, and he felt his still-ringing cell phone shatter.  He winced in pain, swearing. Magnus Bane, mundane or not, wasn’t going to die whimpering in a back alley.

Five minutes later, he stumbled out of the alley, leaving a trail of unconscious bodies behind him.  He shook his arm out, knuckles already starting to bruise, and limped into the street with an epiphany in place.  He was in over his head, he was starting to realize, and he needed to be honest with Alec before he totally snapped—

There were twin bright lights, a blaring horn, and everything went silent.

**Acceptance.**

_The worst part was there wasn’t even on blood on his hands.  A little ash, sure, but his step father had been so far away—_

_He turned back to his mother, considering the keris in her chest.  He grabbed it, wincing a little at the sucking sound it made when he pulled it out of her body, but the blood sluiced onto his wrist, and he felt perversely a little better.  Now his appearance matched the monster within._

~

Magnus woke up slowly, and Jesus, everything hurt.  He’d visited Cat at work enough to recognize the vaguely stale smell that was _everywhere,_ and, sure enough, he looked down his body to see an IV trailing out of his arm, and a distinctly unflattering thin blue paper gown as the only thing separating himself and the world.  He turned to find Alec as snoring loudly beside him, his lanky body contorted awkwardly in a small hospital chair.

Magnus felt a little bad flinging his arm out to whack Alec in the knee—he wasn’t oblivious to the dark circles under Alec’s eyes—but he wanted _out_ of this damn hospital way too badly to let his boyfriend sleep.  Alec flailed awake with a start, momentarily scrabbling for his absent seraph blade before dropping his feet on the floor and blinking sleepily at Magnus.  “Hey! You’re awake.”

“Yes.  And why the _fuck_ am I in a mundane hospital?”

“You got run over by something called a Taurus?  The mundanes driving freaked out and called 911. They had you in surgery before we realized, and Cat said it would be a lot easier to leave you here for a day or two rather than trying to smuggle you out.”  Alec winced. “I’ve already to beg for a favor from Izzy’s mundane ex that I nearly scared to the death the one time I had met him before to get back into post-op. Kidnapping you would set the mundanes on a manhunt.  But don’t worry,” he smiled a little, “between the morphine they’re giving you and Cat’s pain-killing magic, we’ve made sure you were taken care of.”

Alec was gentle with him while Magnus was in the hospital, foregoing mentioning Magnus’s petty tantrum before he’d been injured.  Cat checked up on him periodically, and her pain killing magic kept him from complaining so much. Alec stayed much longer than he should have, but eventually, he was forced back to the Institute; however, he made sure to drag Izzy and Jace and Maia to keep him company.  To his surprise, however, it ended up being mostly Maryse that kept him company. When he asked about it once, interrupting the trashy romance novel she was reading aloud, she just shrugged. “What else am I going to do? So then Rogelio passionately kissed her—”

At one point, Iva came by, a mostly whole Fatima in tow, to tell him the Faceless were safely in Clave custody.  Magnus felt a little relief that at least _something_ had gone right before a chill shot down his spine.  “Wait, you can’t—Lorenzo is blacklisting me. It’s not safe for you here.”  He’d tried to tell Cat the same thing, but she’d rolled her eyes and claimed plausible deniability—Magnus had shown up at her place of employment, after all.  

Iva shook her head.  “Don’t worry about Lorenzo.  We’ll take care of him.”

He blinked at them. “I’m sorry?”

Instead of responding, Iva said, “I didn’t vote for him for High Warlock, you know.”  Before he could respond, she and Fatima disappeared.

“Warlocks.  Always so cryptic,” he muttered to himself.

When he was finally released, Magnus was forced to endure the indignity of being discharged from a mundane hospital, nurse standing at the back of his wheelchair as he waited for Alec’s Uber to pull into the turn around.  He arrived home to find all traces of his drunken shenanigans with his in-laws gone, and his apartment was sparkling—Magnus wasn’t the only one who stress cleaned, it seemed.

Alec continued to hover, refusing to let Magnus leave his bed, and Magnus, whose magical painkillers had long since faded, finally snapped.  “Whatever it is, spit it out.”

“So. . .I heard you blew up at Jace before you got completely plastered with him and my mother.”

“Well, those rumors were likely greatly exaggerated.”

“No, I mean I _literally_ heard it.  I think the entire Institute did.”

“I’m sorry.  I know it wasn’t appropriate.”

“ _Appropriate?_ Magnus,” Alec sat down on the edge, taking his hand.  “I don’t care about _appropriate._ I just want to make sure you’re okay.  I mean—I know you’re not okay, but you’ve been fighting with my brother and drinking with my mother and I feel like I’m the only one who doesn’t know what you’re feeling.

“I’m sorry,” he said.  

“Don’t apologize.  Just be honest. When you got hit by the car—it _was_ an accident, right?”

Magnus stared.  “Alexander, of course it was.”

“And you would tell me if things got that bad like you made me promise you?”

“You want honesty?”  Magnus chuckled. “I feel like I’m being smothered, all the time.  I don’t know who I am anymore—I barely feel like a person without my magic.”

Alec squeezed his hand.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I’m sorry, but—”  He took a deep breath, and reminded himself that he’d never gotten anywhere in life playing it safe.  “I can’t deal with your grief too. I know you feel guilty for my magic being taken, even though it was my choice.  I just—it’s too much responsibility right now.”

Alec nodded.  “I do. Feel guilty, I mean.  For what happened to you, and to Jace, and to Clary.  And I’m struggling with that. But let me deal with that.  Let me take care of you, and I’ll keep vomiting my feelings to the mundane therapy group Izzy forced me into until you’re strong enough to handle it.”

He shook his head.  “I don’t want to be a burden on you either.”  

Alec tilted his chin up.  “We lean on each other Magnus.  You’ve taken care of me plenty of times, let me take care of you for once.  And we’ll get you through this.”

Magnus took a deep breath, in and out.  He thought about the flowers he still had to plant on the balcony.  “Okay.”

And it wasn’t better, but maybe it could be.

~

Two months later, he found out exactly what Iva had meant by _taking care_ of Lorenzo.  Cat had convinced him to go to her place for a check up, but when he entered, he found the place full of warlocks from all over the tri-state area.  He froze, trying to back away, but Alec was calm at his back, and Cat waved him in. Madzie was playing on the floor, and he relaxed; Cat wouldn’t have Madzie around unless she was sure she was safe.  Besides, Lorenzo was nowhere to be seen.

“What’s going on?” he asked.  He felt like he’d walked into a surprise party.

Malachi Cogsworth, an impossibly stuffy South African warlock who was the parliamentarian for the New York clan, unrolled a scroll and cleared his throat.  “By the power vested in me, on behalf of the consent of the council of Northeastern warlocks, determined by ballot, I hear by appoint Catarina Loss as the High Warlock of Brooklyn.”

Everyone burst into applause, and Magnus followed, somewhat confused.  He was thrilled for Catarina, of course, but it was out of the blue and she’d never shown any interest—

“Thank you,” Cat said, speaking to the whole room.  “I gratefully accept this honored position. However, due to my responsibilities as chief healer for the Northeastern council, I will exercise my right to appoint an acting High Warlock in my stead.  Magnus Bane, do you accept the offered position of acting High Warlock?”

“I . . .I don’t understand.  What about Lorenzo?”

Fay Faye shook her head.  “We know it wasn’t Lorenzo who fixed the ley lines.”

“Even when you weren’t high warlock, you were still protecting us,” Felix Velasquez said.  “We made a mistake voting you out.”

“While I appreciate the sentiment,” Magnus said cautiously, “I can’t be high warlock anymore because I _don’t_ have magic.”

Iva stepped forward.  “You resolved the Faceless situation without a drop of magic.”

“Besides,” Cat said, “technically you’re just _acting_ High Warlock.  I can take care of situations where we need actual magic—everybody knows I was always more powerful than you anyway.  So, what’s your answer?”

He smiled, and took a step into the room.  

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr at ohlafraise.tumblr.com.


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